


a sunlit palmful

by asofthaven



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Curse Breaking, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 12:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14112015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asofthaven/pseuds/asofthaven
Summary: This is how Ennoshita’s summer stretches: his daily walks punctuated by the sun beating against his exposed neck, by the occasional breeze, by the glimpses of a man turning everything he touches into a more vibrant version of itself.





	a sunlit palmful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roisale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roisale/gifts).



Ennoshita isn't especially fond of summers; it makes his walk to work miserable and sweaty. The day is so hot, in fact, that the colors seem to melt off the trees and right into the palms of the man sitting underneath it.

Ennoshita slows his pace, narrowing his eyes at the scene. It’s the reverse, actually; the leaves turn a blinding emerald the longer the man touches them. The man is blinding, too: a brightly colored t-shirt, tanned skin, brilliant amber eyes that lock onto Ennoshita’s when Ennoshita accidentally makes a noise of surprise.

“Oh--” the man begins, starting to get up.

“Sorry,” Ennoshita blurts. He raises a hand in apology and hurries away. He hurries away the second time it happens, and the third, his cheeks flaring.

This is how Ennoshita’s summer stretches: his daily walks punctuated by the sun beating against his exposed neck, by the occasional breeze, by the glimpses of a man turning everything he touches into a more vibrant version of itself.

More than once, Ennoshita has been caught staring. More than once, Ennoshita has found himself on the lookout for amber eyes and spiked hair.

Yahaba says it’s heatstroke, not because it isn’t possible, but because Ennoshita is clearly out of his mind for pursuing a stranger so intently.

Futakuchi says Ennoshita’s finally found his solution to a recurring problem in the antique shop, and so why _not_ pursue the guy?

Akaashi says it’s Ennoshita’s late spring. This, said over shared dinner in their apartment, makes Ennoshita choke on his rice. Shirabu, their third roommate, makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a cough.

“I don’t even know him,” Ennoshita protests, eyes watering.

Akaashi nods, nudging glasses of water towards both of them. “But you want to.”

All said, Ennoshita is preoccupied when he’s walking to work the next day. Because it’s ridiculous, isn’t it? They haven't even spoken. Ennoshita, frankly, isn’t sure he could talk to the guy, if previous encounters are any indication. 

He veers off-path and into a thicket of trees, intent on walking the thoughts out before he opens the shop.

And nearly walks right into a person. A shorter person, with amber eyes that Ennoshita has gotten uncomfortably familiar with, if only from afar.

“You again,” the man says. In his palms, a flower stem is turning a deep green.

Ennoshita's mind blanks temporarily. It must, because the next thing out of Ennoshita's mouth is: “Do you want to come work at my shop?”

There's a beat of surprised silence from both parties. Ennoshita immediately backpedals, literally and figuratively, feeling his cheeks burn at his rare spontaneity. “Sorry, I don't know--please just ignore that. In fact, please just ignore me. Bye.”

He turns sharply and begins walking again, quicker. What would compel him to say something like that? Maybe Yahaba was right about the heat. He'll just dunk his head into a tub of ice water when gets to work, then. Maybe attempt a drowning of his embarrassment.

“Wait!”

A hand wraps around his wrist. Ennoshita stops, half-expecting the hand to be stained green. It’s not, though; just warm.

“I’ve seen you before,” the man says, which unhelpfully reminds Ennoshita of all the times he’s been caught staring. “What’s your name? I’m Nishinoya Yuu.”

 _Late spring_ , Akaashi voice says at the back of his mind. Ennoshita shoves the voice to the very back of his mind. He doesn't have a crush on a stranger.

But, he supposes, there's no harm in answering.

“Ennoshita Chikara,” he answers. “Um, I have to go to work, so--”

“Why’d you ask me to work in your shop? What’s your shop?” Nishinoya’s entire stance gives off the impression of insistence. Ennoshita tries to stand firm.

His eyes are more brilliant up close. This is Ennoshita’s downfall.

“Momentary insanity. I'll be going now.”

Except the hand around his wrist is iron-like, and it looks very much like Nishinoya has literally dug his heels into the ground. 

“What’s your shop?” he asks again.

Ennoshita sighs, mentally preparing to be laughed at. “An antique shop. We restore and resell antiques. Read their histories, find rightful owners and stuff.”

“Huh,” Nishinoya says, thoughtfully. Ennoshita’s wrist becomes uncomfortably hot in his grip, but he doesn’t try and free himself. “Whaddaya mean, read their history?”

At this, Ennoshita’s palms heat up. “It’s sort of a skill of mine.”

Nishinoya’s eyes glint. “Awesome. Why d’you want me there?”

Ennoshita averts his gaze. It seems silly, now. Definitely not something worth blurting out in front of stranger you are completely indifferent to, actually. “Your power would be really helpful in restoring antiques.”

“Ooh.” The hand retreats from Ennoshita’s wrist. Nishinoya makes a fist and pounds it into the palm of his other hand. “Like one of those artists who re-do’s paintings!”

“...More or less, yes,” Ennoshita says carefully. He wraps his hand around his newly freed wrist. It's still hot, like a tiny sun directly on his wrist. “You know you don’t actually have to like, consider this, right?”

“You seemed so serious, though,” Nishinoya says, rubbing his chin. He grins when he catches Ennoshita’s worried gaze. “Where’s your shop? I’d like to check it out!”

Akaashi’s voice resurfaces, taunting. _But you want to._

“...Is that so?”

Nishinoya nods, adds a laughing, “What d’you look so worried for, Chikara? You're the one who invited me.”

He speaks with such ease that Ennoshita almost doesn’t notice the use of his first name. When he does notice it, something suspiciously like heartburn starts up in his chest.

Ennoshita rubs at the back of his neck and blinks up at the sky.

“Then,” Ennoshita starts, feeling like he’s lowering himself into a hole he can’t see the bottom of, “why don’t you come by the shop tomorrow around 1? I don’t have any appointments then.”

A weird expression washes over Nishinoya’s face, prompting Ennoshita to ask, “Is that a bad time?”

The expression is wiped from Nishinoya’s face immediately. “No, no, I'll definitely be there! Definitely!”

Ennoshita nods, tries not to smile at the enthusiasm. Reminds himself of his complete indifference to the person in front of him. “See you tomorrow, then.”

Nishinoya waves him off and Ennoshita walks the rest of the way to work in a stupor, the sun beating insistently on his back.

 

Ennoshita’s shop is easily overlooked among the storefronts in the shopping district. The artfully cluttered window display partially obscures the hand-painted _Antiques_ applique on the window.

Yahaba, when he comes in for his shift the next day, describes Ennoshita as suspiciously excited. Ennoshita denies this, but he can’t escape the fact that he’s watching the clock far more often than usual.

Yahaba furiously dusts at the front of the store, sending glares towards the door every few seconds. The clock on Ennoshita’s cell ticks past one, then past one-thirty. Then past two.

“He stood you up,” Yahaba announces, as if Ennoshita was incapable of coming to the very same conclusion himself.

“This isn’t a date,” Ennoshita says, though saying it aloud makes it feel like it had been. Saying it aloud makes it feel like he should be sitting at a table in a little restaurant, sheepishly telling a waiter who’s voice is growing more and more pitying that _he’ll be here in a moment, I’ll wait a little longer._

He shakes his head to brush the thought away. He refuses to succumb to dramatics.

“It wasn’t even really a promise,” Ennoshita adds.

Yahaba gives him a critical look. His hair is fading to white, which is a pretty good indication that he’s feeling angry--though whether at Ennoshita or on Ennoshita’s behalf is anyone’s guess. “You seemed to think it was.”

It’s uncomfortably close to true, which makes Ennoshita worry for his health.

 _Focus_ , he scolds himself, slipping on his work gloves. He has work to do, objects to clean and appraise, and a stack of retrieval requests sitting in a neat stack next to the cash register. He can’t be bothered with vaguely magical boys who don’t show up for appointments.

The first retrieval request is noted in Futakuchi’s handwriting, disconcertingly neat given Futakuchi’s entire personality. There’s a teapot that is currently subject to a squabble between sisters regarding ownership that has to be tended to.

Ennoshita keeps his gloves on as he walks to the rickety shelf where the objects that need a history retrieval are placed. The teapot is at the end, a pretty blue-stained ceramic with a thin spout and handle.

Ennoshita firmly pushed thoughts about Nishinoya not showing up to the back of his mind. Focus is important in reading histories, he reminds himself sternly.

With a great sigh, he picks up the teapot, grabs his notebook, and gets to work.

 

Shortly before five, the bell above the door rings, bringing dry wind through and unsettling the dust Yahaba didn’t manage to clean. Nishinoya, breathing like he's been running, stands in the doorway.

His eyes are brilliant even in the shop’s dusty light. The rest of the face comes next, the arch of eyebrows and the turn of the lips. Intensely searching. When he spots Ennoshita at the counter, he brightens and waves.

Ennoshita’s cheeks heat up. Yahaba, in the middle of calling customers to tell them their order are ready for pick up, scowls.

“Why even bother showing up this late?” he hisses, hand over the receiver. His brown hair quickly dulls.

Ennoshita swats Yahaba's shoulder. “You’re gonna leave a weird a voice message.”

“I don’t like him,” Yahaba adds, abruptly switching to a cheery customer service voice when the person on the other end picks up. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

Yahaba turns away, but not before giving Ennoshita a stern look. He picks up the nearest box of newly cleaned antiques and walks to the store’s tiny storeroom with it and the phone, his hair stalled at a dull, faded brown.

Ennoshita is touched by his weirdly-overbearing concern.

“Welcome,” Ennoshita calls. He pats the counter as an invitation for Nishinoya to come forward. He doesn’t mean to say it, but it comes out anyways: “You’re late.”

Nishinoya winces as he approaches, and bows low. “I’m so, so, so sorry, Chikara!” There it is again, _Chikara_ , and Ennoshita’s accompanying heartburn. “I tried really hard to get here at the right time, but this stupid curse made me misread the time and--”

“The...curse?” Ennoshita repeats blankly.

A clock is slammed onto the counter with force enough to shatter it. It, however, remains dutifully intact.

“The curse,” Nishinoya affirms. He pats the clock, leaning on the counter and sitting in the rickety stool on the other side. “When we were talking yesterday I thought you might be able to help me with this guy.”

It’s an impressive non-sequitur. Curious and slightly suspicious, Ennoshita pulls the clock towards him, keeping his gloves on. It was a nice clock, small enough to fit on a mantle. Some sort of scenery was depicted in the faded paint adorning the sides of the clock. Ennoshita could clearly pick out the figure of a bird and some water. Bamboo stalks, maybe? The clock was stuck on 12:00, and winding it did nothing to help that.

“It’s very nice,” Ennoshita says. “Were you trying to sell it?”

Nishinoya shakes his head vigorously. “You said you could like, tell an object’s history, yeah?”

Warily, Ennoshita nods. It's a tricky thing, reading an object’s history. Ennoshita never quite knows what information it is that his customers are looking for when they come to him or what information the object is willing to give.

“Great! Can you tell me if this thing is cursed?”

Ennoshita blinks. “Excuse me?”

“The curse, the curse,” Nishinoya says, like they’re watching the season finale and Ennoshita has forgotten all of the important bits of the season thus far. “Can you tell me if it’s living in this clock?”

The non-sequitur is suddenly no longer a non-sequitur.

Ennoshita exhales. He’s not sure why the request makes him feel so disappointed. “You want me to read its history.”

Nishinoya nods, resting his elbows on the counter and pillowing his head on his arms. His grin is dazzling, which only makes Ennoshita feel deceived. “I thought it was perfect, when you talked to me yesterday. I’ve been trying to find someone who could help me figure out this curse, and then there you were!”

“I don’t know anything about curses, though,” Ennoshita says carefully, looking away.

He does know a little about curse-breaking, actually, if only through osmosis. Akaashi is a curse-breaker, and so Ennoshita is actually very sure that it’s not something that should be messed around with if he don’t know what he’s doing.

Nishinoya pouts in the direction of the clock. “I just wanna know if that thing’s what’s been cursing us. Is that something you can do?”

Ennoshita frowns in thought. “Technically, yes. What’s the curse?”

“The--? Oh, I can’t tell time.”

“You can’t tell time?” Ennoshita repeats slowly. Nishinoya nods.

“Clocks don’t work around me. Like--” Nishinoya pulls a phone out of his pocket, and shows its face to Ennoshita. Its cracked screen shows a fritz of pixels where a clock should be. “See? But if I’m not touching it, it’s fine.”

Nishinoya puts it on the counter and spins around. The pixels immediately become a digital clock, as if it hadn’t been freaking out just moments before.

“That’s a really petty curse,” Ennoshita muses. He runs a gloved finger along the face of the clock, says with no particular feeling, “So that’s why you were late today.”

The moment it’s out in the air, he wishes he could snatch it back and stuff it way to the back of his throat. Obviously it is, he chides himself, and didn’t Nishinoya already say that? Nishinoya doesn’t owe him an explanation. Barely owes Ennoshita his time.

A warm hand is around his wrist, again. When Ennoshita looks up, Nishinoya is sitting up straight, eyes flashing with determination or something equally powerful and bad for Ennoshita's heart. “I really am sorry, Chikara.”

“It’s fine,” Ennoshita hears himself say. He tugs his hand free. “You’re here now, right?”

Here now, and asking for Ennoshita’s help. Ennoshita inhales deeply, then exhales a short breath. He gives Nishinoya a small smile. “I think I know someone who’s better able to help you.”

Nishinoya tilts his head. It makes him look like a bird.

“My roommate,” Ennoshita explains. “If you come back at--”

Ennoshita stops himself, because he was about to suggest a time, which would not be helpful since Nishinoya can’t tell time.

“The shop closes soon,” he says instead. “I’ll take you after.”

 

Ennoshita sends a warning text on the roommate thread, telling Akaashi that he’s bringing Nishinoya over for some curse-breaking.

Akaashi’s reply is an ambiguous _hm_. And then _okay_. And then, worryingly, _i'll make the necessary preparations._

Shirabu sends a simple _okay_ , which is far more reassuring.

Nishinoya chats the entire way to the apartment, which makes the trip go by much faster. It’s a wonder that he doesn’t run out of words. It's more of a wonder that Ennoshita's attention remains accutely attuned to the sound of Nishinoya's voice.

Akaashi is sitting next to the floor fan with his laptop when Ennoshita and Nishinoya get there. He doesn’t look up, but he does faintly call _welcome back_ when he hears the door.

Ennoshita coughs to get his attention. “Akaashi, this is Nishinoya.”

Akaashi looks up at this, giving Nishinoya a once-over. “The cursed boy.”

He puts his laptop aside, gesturing for Nishinoya and Ennoshita to sit opposite him. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says to Nishinoya.

“Likewise,” Nishinoya says. He flops to the ground. “How d’you break curses, Keiji-san?”

Oh, _Akaashi_ gets an honorific. Ennoshita makes a face.

Akaashi had explained curse-breaking to Ennoshita as cutting threads. Some take more work to break because the curses are thicker--with feeling, or intent, or skill. Others just take a single snip because the curse was so thinly bound in the first place.

For Nishinoya’s sake, Ennoshita hopes it’s the latter. There are so many other steps to unravel when the curse is stronger.

While Akaashi explain this to Nishinoya, Ennoshita goes to the kitchen and pours them all glasses of cold barley tea. He holds the carton to his face for a good long minute and reminds himself that he is indifferent to having Nishinoya in his apartment. Nishinoya, who Ennoshita never contemplated speaking to, much less learning his name, much, much less having in his apartment, chatting with his roommate.

 _Late spring,_ echoes in his mind. He presses the carton against his face, harder.

“How long has this curse been in your family?” Akaashi is asking when Ennoshita gets back to the living room with his tray.

“Two generations.” Nishinoya pulls the clock from his bag and puts it down in front of Akaashi. He frowns at it. “My grandpa was the first to carry the curse.”

Akaashi nods, jotting something down in a notebook he pulled off the coffee table.

“Ennoshita,” Akaashi says, not looking up, “I think we’re going to need your help with this one. This curse has been attached longer than Nishinoya-san has been alive.”

Ennoshita puts the tray down on the floor between them. He doesn't look at Nishinoya, because he's only just got his face together. “And you need me to…?”

“Can you confirm that the curse lives in the clock and not, say, in his blood?”

"I can try."

There’s nothing special about how Ennoshita uses his power, but Nishinoya scoots forward as if something amazing is about to happen. 

Ennoshita tugs his gloves off and runs his hand along the nicked wood and glass. A strong shock runs up his fingers and into his arm, sending the hairs ram-rod straight. His fingers pulse uncomfortably when he pulls them away.

“This is definitely cursed,” Ennoshita says, because feeling like he stuck his hand in an open socket was a generally trustworthy indication of curses.

He turns to Nishinoya with a frown. “This _is_ a family curse, right?”

Nishinoya claps him on the back, eyes sparkling. “You probably have nothing to worry about, Chikara!”

 _Chikara_ , he says, like they’re good friends and not two strangers, one of whom just possibly cursed the other. He turns to Akaashi imploringly.

Akaashi nods. “You’re probably not cursed. Did you see the point in time the clock was cursed?”

Ennoshita wiggles his fingers to get rid of the remaining tingle. “No.”

“That’s no good,” Akaashi says. He’s contemplating the clock, no doubt going through one of his many mental lists. Ennoshita imagines this particular list is titled _Uncooperative Cursed Objects._ “We need to pinpoint the moment it was cursed.”

Which means Ennoshita’s going to have to try to metaphorically stick his hand into a socket again. “Remind me not to help out with curse-breaking again.”

"Well, _I_ wasn't the one who chose the case," Akaashi says. Ennoshita grabs the clock to avoid answering.

It’s very easy to get lost in the memories attached to objects. When Ennoshita dives in a second time, he can feel the pull of them like weighty whispers asking for his attention.

He focuses on the pulsing in his fingers as the memories pass him--scenes from the previous hour, the previous day, the previous week, month, year, years. Nishinoya’s featured in many of them, because of course he is--Nishinoya cleaning the clock with a cloth and humming to himself; Nishinoya moving it out of a box and into an empty room filled with boxes still unpacked; Nishinoya, unsmiling and tear-stained, pushing the clock aside to put up a photograph of an elderly man with his same sharp eyes.

The memory nearly gets Ennoshita to stop, to give comfort to a time that’s already passed. But then he refocuses on the present feeling buzzing in his hands and the cool wood of the clock, and flies backwards through time again.

Ennoshita can’t remember the last time he had to go this far into an object’s history. A year turns to five turns to ten to more, and Ennoshita feels each year like the bump of a callus on his palm.

There’s Nishinoya’s grandfather, younger than in the picture Ennoshita saw, pushing the clock to the side of a different table to make room for antiseptic wipes and bandaids. Opposite him is a tiny Nishinoya Yuu, with a bleeding knee and tears dripping down his face.

It’s such an incongruous image compared to the present-day Nishinoya that Ennoshita’s focus falters.

The memory skips and loops over itself.

 _Focus_ , Ennoshita reminds himself. The memory skips again, and again. A tremor works its way into Ennoshita’s hands and into his chest, making it harder and harder to concentrate on moving backwards--or forwards.

Something presses his fingers flat against the clock, startling and warm. The coolness of the wood and the weight clears Ennoshita’s head, calms his anxiety.

The loop breaks, and time flows backwards.

Ennoshita keeps going, the press of weight keeping him from taking any detours. The buzzing in his hands gets more uncomfortable as the decades pass him, until he’s at a memory that stings all the way up to his elbows, right to the bone. A man, clearly a Nishinoya, facing another man with a scowl on his face.

This memory _burns._

“There.” Akaashi voice is sudden and clear. The memory snags, like a knot in a rope. It untagles and snaps.

Ennoshita’s eyes open.

He immediately has to close his eyes again because the world sways dizzyingly. His breathing is irregular, and it takes several moments before Ennoshita gains control over it again. The tingling sensation in his hands is still there, but warmer, like sunrays. When Ennoshita wiggles them experimentally, a hand shifts with him.

“Are you okay?” Nishinoya asks. His hands are a warm, steady weight on top of Ennoshita’s hands, a fact that snaps Ennoshita out of his stupor.

“Fine,” Ennoshita says quickly. He scoots away from Nishinoya, pulling his hands out from under Nishinoya’s and tucking them into his lap.

“You did a good job,” Akaashi says. He’s staring at something between his fingers with a little frown of concentration. “Nishinoya was a good anchor for you.”

 _Ah_. Ennoshita throws Nishinoya a sideways glance. He can’t help but see Nishinoya a little differently, after the snapshots of him as a child, crying over a skinned knee.

He smiles. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Nishinoya says. He averts his gaze quickly. “Akaashi-san, were you able to break the curse?”

“Yes,” Akaashi says, shaking his hands like he’s getting raindrops off of them. He looks at Nishinoya. “I don’t think it was supposed to last as long as it did.”

Akaashi stifles a yawn behind his hand, which is pretty standard post-curse-breaking behavior. But instead of sleeping on the couch like usual, Akaashi says, “I’m going for a walk.”

He gives Ennoshita a look, and by the time Ennoshita has even attempted to decipher it, Akaashi is already out the door and Nishinoya is calling, “See you later, Keiji-san!”

The door closes softly, but the sound echoes in Ennoshita’s ears.

He should tell Nishinoya to go home. But curse-breaking almost counts as a friend-making activity, and you can't throw a friend out like that, right?

“Did you--” Ennoshita clears his throat. He’s going to have to do something about the blood that keeps rushing to his cheeks. “Did you want some dinner?”

Nishinoya looks up with surprise, which makes it the first time that Ennoshita’s seen Nishinoya caught off-guard.

He recovers quickly, though, and a grin grows across his face as he says, “Yeah, that’d be great.”

They sit side by side on the couch, leftovers heated up in bowls and Ennoshita carefully trying to keep his elbows to himself. It’s futile, though; Nishinoya doesn’t seem to have a concept personal space.

“I almost forgot,” Nishinoya says, through a mouthful of food. “When d’you want me to come over to help with the antiques?”

Any feelings of betrayal Ennoshita may have been harboring evaporate in an instance. “What?”

“You wanted my help, yeah?” Nishinoya stretches his fingers towards Ennoshita, wiggling them in his face. Ennoshita bats them away.

“Yeah, that’s--yeah.” He’s been replaying the first time he saw Nishinoya under the tree for weeks now. It’s a mini-reel in his mind’s eye--the way the colors flow from Nishinoya’s hand, the spread of pigment, the brightness.

“Um. Can I see how you do that, by the way?” Ennoshita asks.

That grin is apparently a permanent fixture to Nishinoya’s face. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Nishinoya trades his bowl for the faded, curse-less clock. The scene reappears under Nishinoya’s fingers: pale blue water, dusty green mountains, a white crane. By the time Nishinoya pulls his hand away, the clock looks freshly painted.

“Please work at the shop,” Ennoshita blurts. It would be so much cheaper than trying to find a restorer.

Nishinoya pushes the clock into Ennoshita’s hands. “How about a deal, instead?”

Ennoshita eyes him suspiciously. “What kind of deal?”

Nishinoya leans forward, grinning. “I’ll help you out with fixing stuff if you go on a date with me.”

Ennoshita makes a choking noise. “Ex-excuse me?”

“A date, a date.”

Ennoshita sighs and covers his face with his hands. A smile slips out anyways.

"Yeah," Ennoshita says, speaking into his hands despite Nishinoya tugging at his wrists, laughing. "I'd like that."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
